#the watcher and the thief | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

madwomansapologist · 7 months

Text

the show must go on | buggy

synopsis: When he captured the crew that has stolen from him, Buggy expected a lot of things. His precious map, his ship back, maybe even some berries. Buggy for sure didn't expect to be allured by your scared eyes.

warnings: smut. bondage. groping. spiting. edging. oral sex. penetration. tw: use of 'prettygirl'. same female!reader oc from nami (you can read as the stories being conected or not, your choice bae).

The chains were too heavy for you to break free. They had your ankles glued to the wooden chair' legs, arms tied behind it. The more you struggle, the more your muscles ache and your wrists burn. Your eyes sting with forming tears, and the lights in the mirror in front of you made your vision blur.

It all happened so fast. The poisoned mist, a caused fainting, the opening act of that terrified circus. Nami running away. She left you and the others, but you were truly sad that they catch her. You thought she would be able to escape. You wanted that to happen.

After that, Buggy's crew were even faster.

Zoro was imprisoned in what looked like a storage room. Nami was dragged there too. Pirates found ropes, probably to torture Luffy somehow. You tried to run, but you knew it wouldn't work out. You ended up locked on a old dressing room with a pirate watching over you.

The only thing you could do was to remain silent and keep on looking at yourself in the mirror. Until Luffy screamed.

Cold sweat spread across your skin, but soon Luffy's adorable laugh relieved you. What was amazing for you was a reason for your watcher to ran towards the main stage.

And all you needed was to be alone for a moment.

You bet money that Zoro is strong enough to break out of the chains in your place. You can almost hear the iron shattering. And Nami is stealth, you know for sure that she has something with her to break free from anywhere. But you also have something they don't: a screwdriver.

You still can't believe how his crew didn't check your pockets.

That's not the first time you hear about Buggy. He's a wanted pirate, known by his sadism and a delusion that you still not sure if it's an act or not. He clearly have no respect for the people living on this island, or your crew, not even his crew for that matter.

You guess he assumed you didn't represent any threat. And he was absolutely right. You can't put on a fight with him. You're not a swordsman, a trained thief, someone that ate a devil's fruit. But if you break free and manage to help your crew, than all those things won't fucking matter.

It was difficult to handle the screwdriver with your back turned, without seeing what you were doing and with your hands still tied, but that didn't stop you. Luffy would rather die than surrender, which means someone needs to save his ass.

With the incessant clicks of metal against metal, you imagined the ways Buggy would torture him. And then he would go after Zoro. Nami. You. How would he tear you apart? In which ways would he break your soul?

Steps startled you. In a second you hid the screwdriver and pretented that your chains weren't lighter than before. You looked back at the mirror, the lights momentarily blinding you, and put your head to work.

With your watcher back, you won't be able to free yourself. But maybe you can persuade him. Lure him into helping. That you can do.

You thought he would do like before: sit in one of the armchairs and act like you weren't there. Instead, you felt hands on your shoulders. You shivered, but they tightened your skin and stopped you from squirming any further.

Did he noticed what you're trying to do? Maybe there is a mirror you can't see, something that let him observe everything you did. You held the screwdriver stronger. He's right behind you, it can't be that difficult to hurt him.

"Poor thing. This wasn't how you expected your day to end, was it? Tied up, alone in a strange place, helpless." You foght the burning in your eyes and tried to focus your vision. Even though you struggled to see, you knew who was behind you. You recognized the voice the moment he opened his mouth. "Not at all my intention. Althought every show gets better with a damsel in distress."

You grind your teeth. Not just kidnapping and immobilizing you, Buggy also wanted to humiliate you? You'll show him where he can put all those poisoned words. "Oh, wasn't that your intention? That was quite clear the moment you ordered them to tie me to where I am."

Buggy squeezed your shoulders again, but this time it felt more like a massage than an act of control. He pout, softening his eyes. "But can you blame me? Your gang stole something from me."

In another situation, that touch would be comforting. Welcomed. But tied to that chair, not even the most beautiful words would be able to have any effect on your body. "But you weren't the one who stole the map, were you?"

Buggy leaned in, his face beside yours. Now you could see him perfectly. The condescending smile, the accusing eyes, the unstoppable mocking tone. His skin was so warm. "And I will get it back", he whispered against your ears, ignoring your question. "So why don't you help me, sweetie?"

"You can get fucked", you snapped. You turned your face, looking at him straight on instead of using the mirror. You gave him a sneer. "I'm not saying anything."

"Geez", Buggy smiled back. Or maybe he didn't. It was difficult to say with all the makeup on his face. He touched your cheeks, you tried to turn your face away from him but he held you by the chin. "Guess your time alone has left you in a bad mood."

He squeezed your face, his nails scratching your skin. Buggy continued to act as if nothing unusual was happening. Maybe for him that was commonplace. "I saw the things you created. All spread out on the ship your little friend stole from me. That means they're mine, right?"

Your struggle in the chair, but he held you in place. An animalistic sound escaped your lips, unintelligible because of Buggy and the anger you felt at the mere mention of losing your inventions.

"Losing all your instruments, your tools, the progress reports," Buggy said this as if he was reading the ride list at an amusement park. "And the inventions, of course."

In a display of strength and agility, Buggy easily turned your seat. Now facing him head on, his face so close to yours, you held your breath. "Or you could join my crew."

You spat on his face. "I'd rather die than be one of your freaks."

It was a risky choice. A move that could go very wrong. But you needed to make sure Buggy wouldn't notice the sound of your hands going back to work on the chains.

He wiped his face with his thumb, snorting at you. Then came silence. Just his eyes staring into yours, your hands working, your heart beating loudly against your ears.

Buggy leaned over, his face inches from yours. You could almost feel his nose against yours. "There are certain things you don't do with a host. Things that cannot be ignored."

He grabbed your hair, his fingers brushing your scalp, and squeezed. You were forced to look up, your neck burning. "Now open your mouth. Lick it clean."

"Fuck you", was your answer.

Buggy tugged on your hair, you felt your scalp burning, and he stuck his wet fingers in your mouth. He didn't wait for you to open up, he just made them cross your lips and press your tongue down.

You could have bitten his fingers. Struggled somehow. Instead, you remained still. If you were a great liar you would have believed it was out of fear of Buggy. Or because it was better to focus on the chains than on beating him in any way. But you weren't, so truth has become visible and palpable in you.

The long fingers in your mouth, the digits sinking against your tongue, his cold skin. And his lack of care, of delicacy, made you feel so full. You salivated against Buggy's fingers.

You liked it, and it surprised you more than anyone else.

But not only visible in your sharp gaze, and palpable in your wet mouth, the truth also became audible. When Buggy tried to take his fingers out of your mouth, a moan escaped with it.

So maybe Buggy was more surprised than you. And its been a long time since he last got surprised.

"Oh," Buggy licked his lips. He let go of your hair, your neck finally relieving. Buggy bent down, sitting on his heels and looking at you from his height. Now he got a smile on his face. You're pretty fucking sure he has one. "I see it now."

He slid his dry hand over your cheek, caressing it with an affection that surprised you. You almost lean on his touch. Almost.

His hand slid from your cheek to your waist. Buggy squeezed you, almost tighter than the chains you're trying to free yourself from. But his touch didn't bother you. It didn't make you feel trapped.

Buggy was that nightmare that occupied the minds of anyone who ever heard of his exploits. But there, crouched in front of you, you didn't think about any of that. You didn't think about anything at all.

"Pretty face, sharp mind. I won't get any answer out of you," Buggy whispered. His nails scratched your knees, moving up your thighs in an excruciatingly slow motion. Buggy stopped at the hem of your skirt, and played with the fabric. "So tell me, inventor, do you want to have a good time?"

"You kidnapped me,” you replied. "Arrested my friends. Tortured one of them."

"He didn't even cry", Buggy's nails lightly scratched the back of your knee. He threw the hat away, you heard the sound of something else falling. "And the past is the past."

You swallowed hard. "I can't do this."

"I will be your dirty secret", Buggy kissed your knee. The kiss went further on your skin, giving you goosebumps. "C'mon, pretty girl. You really gonna say no? I'm on my knees."

"You're not on your knees."

Without hesitation, Buggy knelt in front of him. He squeezed your waist, mischievous eyes staring into yours. "Say you don't want this."

At some point the truth would escape you. "Be quick", Buggy was sure he saw flames behind your eyes. "I still have to escape from here."

“Ah, pretty girl,” Buggy chuckled against your thighs. His laughter seemed to go through his body. "You won't escape me."

It wasn't a threat. For you, it landed as some kind of promise.

"Just wait and see", you promised him back.

Buggy lift your skirt, revealing you to him. He glared at you, almost making you shy away. Of course you couldn't move, but it still made you want to. His gaze rose to your eyes, and this time the smile was more natural. Almost a hidden line in all that red makeup.

Slowly, looking you in the eyes, Buggy licked from your entrance to the top of your pussy. Buggy seemed to be someone who was insatiable, but his calmness made you shiver.

It made you feel like this was going to take longer than you imagined. It made you feel like Buggy was going to devour you until there was nothing left.

And so he did. Buggy calmly played with you, got to know your body, found every nerve and got lost in them. You could feel yourself melting against his face. Turning into this brainless creature because of his touch.

When he got tired of torturing your lips, Buggy focused on your soaked entrance. He stuck his tongue into you, finding every nerve, and fucked you with it. You felt yourself grinding against his face, his nose pressing against your clit just the right way.

And when you were about to reach your peak, he pulled away.

"Do I need to wait more?" Buggy mocked you. You grunted, making Buggy laugh. "Anytime now you gonna magically break free?"

You lost count of how many times Buggy repeated this. He would take you to the gates of heaven only to bring you back to earth. It was torturous. Intoxicating. But one thing you can't say: that it didn't give you the time you needed.

Buggy pulled away, leaving bites on his thigh. "How much longer will I need to wait?"

At your limit, you didn't even bother to tell you. You just let go of the chains that previously held you, making Buggy's eyes widen, and pushed him with your feet. He fell onto his back, his face terrifyingly staring as you moved, his body propped up on his elbows. "How did you-"

You threw yourself at him, pulling his pants down. Buggy squirmed in your hands, feeling your fingers pressing against his cock. "Magic", you answered him.

Buggy would believe on anything you said to him if you kept on touching him like that.

Soaking wet, your pussy didn't need anything else to accommodate his cock. You felt it stretching you, making you feel so full, and heard Buggy's wit comments turning into desperate whimpers. He was just as sensitive as you. Just as needy as you.

Leaning on Buggy, your hands against his chest supporting you, you bounced on his cock.

And you didn't have the same patience as him. That wet sound, that impure and malicious sound, echoed through the dressing room. Their moans, Buggy's still surprised whispers, filled the entire room. For a moment you thought the whole world would be able to hear you.

To hear how good it was to be torn apart by Buggy.

But as Buggy said, he would be your dirty secret. A nasty memory about something you shouldn't have wanted so bad, but that you did it anyway. Buggy would be someone you shouldn't have been with, but fuck you would do it again if you ever have the chance.

And when you reached your so desired orgasm, when Buggy felt compressed by you warm wall and cum inside you, Buggy was the person you left whimpering on the floor so you could help your crew.

Little did you knew you carried a part of him with you.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

270 notes · View notes

godsspecialestlittleguyskirmish · 3 months

Text

The bracket is here! Full list of matches under the cut! If there is any information that would disqualify a contestant, please let me know!

Furina [Focalors] (Genshin Impact) vs Neku Sakuraba [Joshua/Yoshiya Kiryu] (The World Ends With You)

Rand al'Thor [The Creator] (The Wheel of Time) vs Hua Cheng [Xie Lian] (Heaven Official's Blessing)

Waxillium Ladrian [Harmony] (Mistborn) vs Rei/Akari [Arceus] (Pokémon Legends: Arceus)

Jonathan Sims [The Ceaseless Watcher/The Eye] (The Magnus Archives) vs Anakin Skywalker [The Force] (Star Wars)

Kirby [Kirby] (Kirby) vs Jayfeather [Starclan] (Warrior Cats)

Scout [Christian God] (Team Fortress 2) vs Mobei-Jun [Shang Qinghua/Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky] (The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System)

Temenos Mistral [Aelfric the Flamebringer] (Octopath Traveler 2) vs The Hollow Knight [The Pale King] (Hollow Knight)

Optimus Prime [Primus] (Transformers) vs Eugenides [Eugenides] (The Queen's Thief)

Yoo Joonghyuk [The Oldest Dream/Kim Dokja] (Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint) vs Xie Lian [Jun Wu] (Heaven Official's Blessing)

Kiriona Gaia [John Gaius] (The Locked Tomb) vs Dean Winchester [Chuck/Christian God] (Supernatural)

Link [Hylia] (The Legend of Zelda) vs Simon Petrikov [Golb/Golbetty] (Fionna and Cake)

Aeneas [Venus] (Virgil's Aeneid/Homer's Iliad) vs Kim Dokja [tls123 + Uriel] (Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint)

Harrowhark Nonagesimus [John Gaius] (The Locked Tomb) vs The Dark Urge [Bhaal + Jergal] (Baldur's Gate 3)

Cecil Gershwin Palmer [Huntokar] (Welcome to Night Vale) vs Ezra Bridger [The Force] (Star Wars Rebels)

Joker/Akira Kurusu/Ren Amamiya [Yaldabaoth] (Persona 5) vs Jesus Christ [Christian God/his dad] (The Bible)

Shadowheart [Lady Shar] (Baldur's Gate 3) vs The Penitent One [The Twisted One] (Blasphemous)

#any poll blogs following youre welcome to rb this since its been so long since i started this

128 notes · View notes

linneri · 1 year

Text

navy blue

aged-up!neteyam x fem reader

no warnings; spoiler free

non-english speaker

His skin had a much cooler shade than yours; that was the first thing you noticed. Bright navy blue, deeper, heavier, almost impossible to get from marine nature. The pair of amber eyes were scanning the surroundings, checking for potential dangers, confirming if his family is safe here among strangers, and this gaze had you glued to the ground, feet grown in sand when these eyes accidentally went looking directly, straight into you. Tsireya was talking and smiling, and you wanted to scream at him, "Hey, look at her, she's the prettiest girl here," but he was still and almost hypnotized, ears trembling nervously. He's mesmerizing, you thought. He's so pretentious, it's almost scary. He must be brave enough for those kinds of stares, brave or frivolous—you couldn't decide.

Stranger from a land where trees touch the sky and levitating mountains have no ground beneath them, it was poetic; he must have seen the highest of altitudes.

His father came from the star, as you'll be told later. It makes sense; he is a cosmic boy, the comeliest of the aliens, and you found it truly beautiful. You two didn't talk after; he melted from this frozen gaze and went with Tsireya, Ao'nung, and the whole group of his younger siblings with big eyes and thin tails, and they all were adorable, really, you could feel the strong, unbreakable connection in this family. It was a bit painful to look at them from the side, but you weren't the daughter of the Olo'eyktan, surely, you were just a part of the clan, just a watcher. That is what was most surprising to you this morning. You weren't in the first line; you never are. Looking at forest guests from someone's shoulders, hiding patiently just to watch from the side, and still being noticed like this—strongly, gripped with the gaze. He caught you like a hunter catching a thief. Overthinking these few minutes made you feel like you were the one who was either brave or frivolous.

It's not like you two got closer over the weeks; you haven't even shared a word. You weren't ready to go talk to him; it was almost like a fantasy, but you were already too curious for him, almost glued to him, so you couldn't leave the beach while he was somewhere in the water. Call it embarrassing or romantic—it doesn't matter. He was still the son of Toruk Makto, and you were still just a weaver sitting on the sand. It was simple to bring all the materials onto the beach and hide the eyes behind the tapestry. He was learning how to ride an ilu once, which was pretty hilarious to be honest, but he knew you were there, and you knew that he knew, and this was calming. It's all about the looks: there were looks in the morning when you were arriving at your beach spot; there were looks in the evening when he was returning from his long distance swims; you two were always searching for each other's eyes, just to know, just to feel this kind of warmth and keep going. It was your little game in comfort, and it always ended with a win for both of you.

Soon or later, it started to hurt somewhere under the ribs, his apartness. You low-key felt like a traitor; your little staring game was unbreakable and already much more than you could ever dream of, but somehow it still wasn't enough, and you had no idea if this feeling was mutual. In this case, wouldn't he come? This silence started to get overwhelming; it was almost feral. You weren't the one; you never are. He might generously gift you these looks and still choose someone else—someone prettier and louder, someone with a brave and adventurous soul, someone who speaks instead of just looking.

But he saw you, you thought. Shouldn't it mean something?

You didn't come the next day. And the next too. It all felt too silly, and you decided that you had romanticized this whole experience much more than you should have. It's probably been a week or something; you just tried to come back to your life: quiet weaving at home, family dinners, learning, spending time alone with your thoughts. The tapestry was almost ready, though. You took it in your hands, finishing all the details, slowly sewing the ends, and adding the shells as buttons. It was wonderful, yet it still felt like a failure. You packed it under your pillow like the most hidden of secrets.

It was your birthday a few days later. Never a party, but rather a little celebration with the closest hearts around. You loved it quietly. You never expect a lot, just some little gifts, mother's meals, forehead kisses, and soft evenings inside the village. Nature greeted you as well. It was one of those sunsets in silence when everyone rested in their places and the island was a little liar for saying that it was all yours for tonight. Water greeted you respectfully, and air touched your face with the slightest kisses; you were a dreamer, and this planet loved you.

The village was turquoise, the warmest shade of the surrounding wet air. That's why this cold navy blue in front of your eyes almost got you tricked. Heart dropped immediately; for a second, you forgot you even had one. In the darkness, his skin was starting to glow a bit with these little sparking freckles, and you weren't just staring; you were stargazing him carefully. He was a cosmic boy, you remember.

And somehow, he came. It was him just in front of you, on your little secret birthday. You found it surprisingly easy - to look at his amber eyes once again like your gaze never leaved his, not for a second.

"You're here." You broke the silence. It was almost possible to hear the crack of the rules that were finally breaking.

"Let me know if coming here will ruin everything." He said. His voice was strong and yet trembling. "Let me know if it was already ruined."

Ruined?

If you only had an answer. It was dreamy, but yet so impossibly real. The tension could be touched and grabbed in your fist if you ever raised your hand. He was here and close enough to radiate warmth from his cold-shaded skin. Ruined? It's a farce. You were the one who put an end to this game, overwhelming and terrified of fear, and he came here equally terrified as you but infinitely braver.

Lips opened for a word, but came with nothing. You prayed for your eyes to say it all.

"I should have come earlier." Shaking his head, he said."It hurts to lose this certainty that if I turn around, I will meet your eyes there."

It hurts. It feels then, you thought. It feels then, and not only you were the one to feel.

And it's all about the way this boy speaks: expectedly tenderly. You always wondered what his voice sounded like.

"And yet it feels newly seeing you this close." You said, breaking for a little smile. It was boldly for you, but you felt happy to see him here, really did. It was a confirmation that he indeed felt the same way about you.

The sunset tried its hardest to shine brightest this moment, but it was overshadowed by the smile growing in front of you.

You said your names to each other right after. The bond made in your heads got a little stronger with this smallest step, and you loved his name endlessly—Neteyam sounded perfect for his indomitable spirit and such soft, tender eyes, and it felt even softer to say it out loud.

"It's your birthday." He said, dropping his gaze away from your eyes, probably for the first time in these minutes. "It's not the best, but I took some clothes from my village before coming here and now unraveled one of my capes because I never saw such color in your tapestries and Tsireya said that--"

"We don't have this pigment on our land." You finished.

He was holding his hands in front of you, and there was a beautiful skein of cold blue thread in them, navy as his skin but brighter than you've ever seen. It was the color of their nights, you thought, the shade their forest generously provided only for its citizen. And now you're the one who can take it as if you were one of them. It was lovely. Neteyam felt you without asking any questions. It left you breathless.

"How could you know? It's so perfect." It was a childlike awe in your tone that made him smile and look into your eyes once again. "Thank you."

You were scared to even breathe because this little gift felt so personal and let you know that he really cared and noticed, and he really tried to know you as well as he could, from the side, just like a watcher, just like you. You raised your eyes, and you knew they were shining.

"I have something for you as well." You told him. Neteyam looked confused, ears straightened quickly. "Please, just stay here."

"Hey, why would I leave?" He smiled wildly after failing at fake pouting. You loved how his eyes were surrounded by a few wrinkles in this moment. It was torture to turn your head away and go fast to your place.

It was near; you weren't far away, and you knew that he was waiting for you. It made you feel something real. It excited you. There were minutes, probably, funny or not: a few words to your parents, a few steps to your bed, a few moves to your pillow, grabbing the tapestry, and almost running back to him.

When you arrived, breathing barely, you looked at him with the silliest smile. You held it proudly in your hands, your heart racing. You remember finishing it hopelessly and feeling like you were just a fool for him, and now the soft material warmed your hands.

You were weaving him a cape at the same time he was unraveling his own for you.

It was in light marine colors, with threads of silver and bronze, a pattern reminding you of water, and glowing shells as buttons—truly good work. You weaved it with all your feelings for him, and it actually turned out to be the best tapestry you've ever made.

And it was so intimate—changing the gifts that connected so strongly without even knowing.

He went silent—not a silly joke, not a single laugh. Neteyam took it so carefully, like it was fragile. He didn't expect it, you could tell, and it was an intriguing show to watch, to notice all the changes in his mimicry and looks. So warmly. He looks at you so warmly all the time. He placed it on his shoulders slowly, putting the shell in the loop with one careful movement. Like a prince, you thought. His skin made the cape almost shine in the sunset lights.

"It's not my birthday today, you know?" He said.

"I know, but it's mine. Keep it if you want to cheer me up a little more than you already did."

He looked up at the colorful sky and laughed loudly. "You're perfect. And it's the work of art that I didn't deserve but that I will definitely be carrying with me till the end. Thank you." He lowered his head back at you. "Thank you."

Making him happy. That's all you wanted after this moment.

You both sat on the sand, and the conversation finally felt natural and unhurried; he was the sweetest and shyest person you could ever imagine.

You were the one to break this shy wall between you two and tell him honestly that you did, in fact, miss him and that you were, in fact, coming to the beach just to see him. He laughed softly and placed his hand on your head compulsively, probably because of the oldest brother's habit of messing up his siblings' hair, but took it off immediately. You wouldn't mind, though. His accidental touches were giving butterflies.

He was honest as well; you believe that he was always honest, but it was still surprising to hear him tell you about all these feelings you two shared but both had no idea you did. You were a little poet with threads as words for him. He felt it somehow—maybe it was some kind of connection or just admiration—but watching you alone with something you love was beautiful. It was natural; you were on your own and never complained about it. That's why he never talked to you; he was afraid to ruin something in this idyll, break your comfort zone, and lose the opportunity to look at you every other day. But you were always looking back, and that gave him this blind courage to come here. He didn't know your name, he never asked. He could just go to Tsireya or anyone, but he liked to keep you as his little secret. Neteyam was not embarrassed to publicize his little addiction; he simply loved the intimacy of it all. And it was passionate; you felt the same kind of desire to keep this away from everyone in order to keep it as magical as it had always been.

You couldn't dream of this answer. He gave you much more than you thought you ever deserved.

And he was perfect in the darkened skies; it felt like they were trying to make him glow as much as possible. It was a moment when you raised your hand carefully after your conversation stopped in the comfortable, soft silence, and it was almost possible to hear the sound of the air cutting under your palm; everything was slow.

You touched one of his sparkling freckles between his eyes, stopping their light. His skin was satin. It was as warm as his gaze, much warmer than how this cold-shaded skin was looking. He stared at you so intensely—nobody has looked at you like this.

Nobody has ever seen you like this.

Your fingers moved by themselves, braver than you ever were, going down, remembering all the caves on his face, the silhouette of his nose, the little pit above his trembling lips. They stopped there, covering his mouth with the slightest touch. Neteyam was watching your eyes following this way. You knew the night was hypnotized as well; the clouds were completely still in the skies, looking down at both of you.

You moved forward impulsively. It was a moment; you lost yourself, and your eyes closed without your permission. Blame the date; you had a few minutes before your birthday ends and it was the courage that fogged your mind. Or it's just him: beautiful, beautiful cosmic boy under your skin with an intense gaze and the warmest amber in his eyes.

And you kissed the tips of your fingers like there were just his lips uncovered for you. So close. So "almost". You didn't see it, but you felt it—he flinched, his hot breath burned your fingers, and he opened his mouth a little, instinctively.

The moment got stuck. Time could get faster or just stop; you wouldn't tell. It was just your noses touching, shared loud breathing, and trembling fingers between you two, like the strongest and largest barrier you've ever felt. You had no right for more, you wouldn't ask for it. It was the closest you could get, and you slowly tried to move back to face reality. But he caught you. He caught you, like he always does. His fingers wrapped around your wrist so fast and tightly, almost scared, that you couldn't help but open your eyes in a daze and meet this melting amber.

You couldn't forget the way he looked at you—in awe. Conserved sparkles in this gaze because of fear of hurting you, grip relaxing around your wrist. He nearly told you with his eyes: "Let me." Fingers moved higher to meet yours, carefully fitting between, where your lips almost touched.

He nearly asked you with his hand: "Please."

Was there any other answer you could give him instead of yes? You closed your eyes slowly, sipping down your entwined fingers, and it was louder than any of your possible words.

He kissed you.

Blindly and passionately, as if nothing else mattered more than your lips on his, your holding hands under your chins, your little gasp after he finally touched you in ways you both couldn't even imagine. It was forbidden, and yet so freeing—a little secret that got you both breathless. He moved slowly, taking his time on you, and it was so intimate that you felt the goosebumps running down your back. His other hand covered the back of your neck, trying to be closer—the closest he could ever get. It's doubly that he could at this moment; you wanted him somewhere under your skin. Glued permanently like a tattoo.

The seeingless line between, the little navy blue thread on your fingers, the gazes that could find each other even in the most crowded of streams—there was something so real tying you both together. Knotting like a weaved braid.

It was something real and beautiful, the way your lips perfectly fitted, breaths combined, and skin smoothly touched each other.

He torturously, unbearably moved away in an instant, breathing heavily on your lips, your foreheads touching. Leaving a little peck on the corner of your lips before talking: "You should teach me." He took your entwined hands on the material of his weaved cape.

You laughed softly, making a little effort to bring his hand back to your face: "You would be much better in it with this extra finger your siblings have." You said, kissing his palm and hearing him chuck.

"Indeed. But I have much more motivation to learn than all of them."

"Yeah? Always wanted to weave?" Your lips were still on his fist, touching his skin anytime you talked or smiled through it.

"Always wanted to have a reason to be around you." He said unexpectedly seriously. You found it quite adorable; this boy was pure in his feelings for you, and this is all you ever desired. You put your lips back on his, kissing him softly instead of answering.

He's got all the reasons to be around now, and you both knew it. Before it got too dark and late, he was kissing your face everywhere, leaving some silly playful pecks on your forehead and cheeks through the smile, holding your face tightly with his palms.

The comeliest of aliens that came from the place with mountains that saw no ground, he was just about to show you all the altitudes, and you were ready to fly the highest with him if he ever asked you. You both were laughing and finally felt so free with all the unhidden feelings you both tried to hide.

"Cosmic boy." You whispered between his little kisses, and you knew he adored it.

And it felt lovely to let yourself be happy.

#neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam x oc #neteyam fic #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam x reader #neteyam imagine #avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar 2 #avatar twow #avatar imagine #avatar fic #avatar x reader

483 notes · View notes

gilly-moon · 3 months

Text

PERCY JACKSON TV SHOW REVIEW

(SPOILER ALERT! I Did Not Like It)

It has been 16 long years since I first picked up The Lightning Thief, and once again...I am faced with an adaption of one of my favorite books that is so painfully disappointing. And now that the tv show is completely out, it's time to purge the collection of thoughts I compiled on it:

Starting on one of the (few) positives, the cast was incredible. I know for a FACT that they are all wonderfully talented individuals, and I aim all of my gripes with their acting at the directors and writers.

So much telling. So little showing. Stop explaining the plot and the mythology to me. SHOW it to me. Explain later only when necessary.

And yet, some things weren't explained at all! I know, as someone who read the books, what blue food means to Sally and Percy. But the show never explains its significance. To the unknowing watcher, it's just a weird quirk, not a small rebellion between a woman and her kid against the life they're stuck in. It baffles me what the writers chose to over explain versus under explain. There's no clear reason for either behavior, and it permeates the writing in a bad way.

There's also a lot of the kids just being dragged from point A to point B by an outside force, rather than their own actions. They never really felt alone or even in danger on their quest, because gods kept showing up to help them along. I did not like that.

These kids aren't allowed to be kids. I stg you could make them teens or young adults and the dialogue/their actions would be the same. That's not good.

Why do they always have all of the information!!!?? They immediately know it's Medusa. Echidna introduces herself and they immediately know who she is and that it's a Chimera in her bag. They immediately know what the Lotus casino is. Why? It makes the stakes feel so low, rather than the mad dash scramble in the books that happens a lot when characters have to remember the myths and how to beat a monster mid-fight. And it makes all these scenarios so boring!!!

Also so many of the fight/chase scenes were boring or anticlimactic. The only good ones I can think of were in the first two episodes, and then one with Ares. Someone actually slipped in some good choreo in those few fights, but completely forgot to add it in to....the rest of the show....

There's very little about the show that feels magical. CG is used, obviously, but at times it feels like they should've gone further with it, or used it even more, and they just....didn't. The visuals end up feeling clunky and not very cohesive, with zero whimsy. Hate to make this comparison, but the Harry Potter movies were VERY good at showing the lines between the magical world and the muggle world, and the tension that occurs when the two interact. There is....none of that in the PJO series. Zip. Zero. And the mythological CG that is there is more often than not static or boring.

Break for a positive! I actually really liked that Percy was learning mythology from Mythomagic. The show wasn't really consistent on that point - saying it was his mom instead most of the time - but that was such a fun and clever way to work in the card game and make it plot-relevant. As someone with ADHD, I can confirm I would also learn mythology WAY better if it was for my favorite game.

Ok back to the negatives - Wtf is up with the portrayal of the gods? For one, they're boring to look at. Nothing about their designs makes them feel 'godly' and while that's ok with some gods (Hermes for one, tho I have issues with his weird beige sweat suit look) why is Ares just some regular ass biker dude? Where are the flaming eyes?? And radical skin-leather bike?? He couldn't even have a CUSTOM bike with red bloody paint and boar heads and chain link handles or something???

And the gods are way too fucking nice. Sorry. I don't have an issue with Hermes being nice but. Ares having a heart-to-heart with Grover? When his presence is supposed to stir everyone up into a rage? And Hephaestus sees Annabeth refuse to give up on her friend and just goes 'awww, ok, you and Percy can go, and take my rival's shield back to him too cause I'm just so nice.' Sorry, no. I'm fine with gods being helpful - Hephaestus helps (reluctantly) in the later books. But it was at a price! A favor for a favor! Not a 'get out of jail free' card just because he was moved by normal ass human compassion!!

Hades gets his own bullet point because who the fuck was that. As a child of Hades, I'm offended that this sweet fruity guy just wanders up and goes 'hey, how's it going, wanna snack?' like, that is NOT my dad. My dad had skeleton soldiers filling his halls and a garden of jewels and a voice so loud it rattled the whole Underworld. Whoever that was in the show was a pathetic imitation.

The point of the first series is to work up to Percy throwing it in the gods' faces how awful and neglectful they've been of demigods and specifically their own children. Demanding that they do better. But if they're already showing compassion and 'humanity' in the context of the first book/first season of the tv show....Percy starts running out of ammo against the gods. There's no coherent story progression where Percy spends years seeing the worst of the gods and the best of them at very distinct, important times of his life and his story. It no longer feels like a massive change they have to make in the system, something that deserves a godly favor for Percy to demand of them. Luke no longer feels like his fury at the gods is wholly justified. The whole series begins to crumble because the gods already have a good reason for being how they are, rather than being thoroughly selfish assholes who only dote on demigods when they do something really cool. And the exceptions are presented at intelligent moments that prove to Percy when he most needs it that the gods can be better, they just need a forceful push to get there.

That being said, where was Percy getting the info that the other gods were feeling scared and abused by Zeus? I love the balls on this kid, but like...when did he make these assumptions and why? That whole scene felt really unearned.

Also Olympus was BORING. And EMPTY. And DARK. It looked like we were just back in the Underworld. Which. The Underworld was fucking boring too. Some neat visuals, sure, but put that in some high fantasy show. Not this one.

One last positive before my final point - there were some pretty good jokes scattered around. Not nearly enough, but I did really enjoy the Dionysus introduction and a handful of lines from Percy. Also releasing the animals in Vegas - Grover being like 'oh, you were worried about the humans' got me good.

The final word that kept spinning through my head after finishing episode 8 was: Pathetic. Luke's betrayal was pathetic. No deadly scorpion. No commitment to that period of time in the books we were convinced he really was evil. And Gabe just stumbling on the package with Medusa's head in it? PATHETIC. Percy outright asked his mom if she was being abused in the book, and she took fate into her own hands to statue-ify that bastard. But no. The show was through-and-through just a pathetic, watered-down version of an incredibly fun, emotional, brutal, exciting series of books. I know there was a lot of heart behind this production, but I did not feel it at all. But what else should I have expected from modern Disney?

#i could probably go on for years but #i am tired #and already went through this once with the movies so #now i merely wish to expel my thoughts and then let the memory of this show fade from my mind

55 notes · View notes

gladumfdoodles · 4 months

Text

Writing Masterlist!!

hello! I have written enough fics that I am making a little thing here for all of them with links and everything :]

just a reminder before I list them all, everything I write is platonic (except for joel and Lizzie together, they are the one exception), if you want to read them as romantic you can, but that is not the intent!

links:

multichapter giggs phasmo fic written in the style of radio logs and emails

watcher grian one-shot with xisuma and scar featuring grian being feral (literally)

multichapter fantasy au where Scar is the king and Grian is the watcher's newest servant

two-shot ranchers fic based off of xmaruu11's fire thief au

desert duo witch au series where grian is a witch and scar is a rejected fae (currently has six fics, and maybe will have more if people continue to show interest in it)

boatem pirates au series in which grian is traumatized and gets many cuddles

one-shot superhero au where grian is a vigilante and scar is a hero turned villain

one-shot wild magic au featuring cat shifter grian and fae scar

long one-shot college au of the season 6 hermitcraft build off

one-shot fighting ring au with champion grian and new comer scar

one-shot prison (?) au with traumatized desert duo

two part scifi au, grian centric with plenty of whump and hurt/comfort

one-shot superhero au where Scar is a hero and grian is a vigilante, and a sudden turn of events brings them closer together

princess bride au, with buttercup!grian and dread pirate roberts! scar (currently in progress, looking to end up at about 45k words long)

I've also been asked if I'm okay with fanart for my fics, and the answer is yes!! a thousand times yes!! I think I would cry (/pos) if someone made something inspired by me, please tag me if you do, I would love to see it!!!

thank you for stopping by!!

#gladumf rambles #gladumf writes #my writing #writing masterlist #writing masterpost #idk what I'm doing y'all #desert duo #grian #goodtimeswithscar #gtws #boatem #boatem crew #gigs phasmo #team gigs #team ranchers #fanfic #take this #to my au enjoyers I am with you #run like the wind

69 notes · View notes

archive-of-artprompts · 1 year

Text

Send in a title and I'll draw an OC/Character that I associate to it

The Child/Son/Daughter

The Parent/Father/Mother

The Gardener

The Farmer

The Cook

The Artist

The Musician

The Architect

The Scientist

The Healer

The Guardian

The Watcher

The Keeper

The Lover

The Fighter

The Thief

The Femme Fatale

The Fool

The Jester

The Magician

The Prince/Princess

The Lord/Lady

The King/Queen

The Quiet

The Lost

The Forgotten

The Dead

The Undead

The Ghost

The Phantom

The Shadow

The Monster

The Sun

The Moon

The Star/s

The Earth

The Sea

The Flower

The Fae

The Mirror

The Oracle

The Prophet

The Creator

The Angel

The Devil

The Damned

The Vengeful

The Righteous

The Wise

The Chosen One

#art prompt #art meme #oc prompt #word prompt #oc meme #prompt #character prompt

512 notes · View notes

tildeathiwillwrite · 8 days

Text

Tag Game: OC Interaction

Thank you to @illarian-rambling for the tag! This looks super fun! :D

Rules: Provide a short description of your oc, then using the description given by the person who tagged you, describe how you think the two of them would interact.

-----

Tagger's OC: Daedryn is a lady knight with one eye and red hair. She's the divine Chosen of Loqang, god of rivers and loyalty. Due to this, she is fiercely loyal to whatever person or organization she has promised herself to, to the point of following orders for orders sake. Outside of battle, where she is a force to be reckoned with, she's very sweet, a little awkward, and loves to talk about her god, who she sees as her best friend.

My OC: Hector Epsilona is Caenum's resident Watcher (which is a detective/bodyguard/mercenary-type job). He knows the law (and its loopholes) very well, and uses both extensively, and enjoys a small amount of freedom to operate outside the law if he sees fit. He is extremely protective of and attached to those he cares about, especially his apprentice, Luc. He is generally polite, if a bit stern, and is always looking for a way to turn something into a lesson.

How I think they would interact: I think they would get along decently well if they were to, say, work together on a case of some sort. They both have strong loyalties and moral codes. But Hector wouldn't hesitate to disobey orders if he disagreed with them and/or break the law if he felt he needed to for the case, and that is where they'd disagree.

Gently tagging @faytelumos @chronicallydragons @phoenixradiant @writingphoenix @thethistlegirl @gummybugg @zestymimblo and open tag! :D

#tag games #writeblr #writeblr tag games #oc interaction #oc interaction tag #my ocs #others ocs #hector epsilona #luc epsilona #tales from valaria #tfv #the watcher and the thief

7 notes · View notes

smirkingkitten · 5 months

Text

Reading list November 2023

It's December and that doesn't just mean the Christmas season starts and it's the time for cozy evenings with candles, blankets and a hot chocolate, but also: it's time for another reading list.

It feels like it's been so long since Loki graced us with a new episode every week. I'm still not quite over the ending, although this interview did heal my poor heart a little, if only just a bit. I hope you're coping well with the ending. And now, happy reading.

✨And don't forget to reblog the storys you read to support all these lovely writers.✨

My other Reading lists can be found in my Fanfiction Bookshelf.

Series | Collections | Multi Parts

The Redbridge Hunts @fanficshiddles

8 Chapters (on going) | Vampire!Loki | fluff

prev. | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8

Summary: Claire moves to Demsdale to take up a new job as an assistant teacher for one Loki Laufeyson. She's also very intrigued with all of the rumours within the borough of Redbridge. However, as she starts to fall for Loki's charm and good looks, she also learns that all of the rumours might not just be rumours after all.

Double Cross @gigglingtiggerv2

12 chapters (on going) | Jaguar Villain!Tom | dark, smut

Summary: In Dante’s inferno, the Eighth Circle of Hell was reserved for liars, panderers, thieves and murderers. For the criminal underworld it is an opulent London club, representing neutral territory where deals can be made, grievances aired and scores settled.

For the owner, Thomas Cross, it is his own private kingdom, one where he makes the rules and wields absolute authority. Recently, however, that authority has come under threat. In order to maintain his standing and the Club’s ruthless reputation, it is imperative he find the perpetrator.

In this violent place, where lies are currency and everyone has their own agenda, who can he trust? Certainly not Verity Williams, the talented thief who has her own reasons for infiltrating his organisation.

Neither can deny the sparks that fly whenever they’re together, but if he’s not careful, will those sparks burn down everything he’s created?

Déchiré @ijuststareatstuffhereok89

7 chapters (on going) | Loki, Bucky, Captain America | smut

You are a HYDRA agent sent to infiltrate the notorious Avengers, to tear them apart in the worst way possible in order to make them vulnerable to attack. In the midst of the wild heat you generate, three suitors take your bait.

One Shots

Firestarter @delaber

4,2k | AvengersMovie!Loki | smut, hatefucking

Rule Number One @just-the-hiddles

medium | Jonathan Pine | smut, dom/sub, daddy, spanking

Gorgeous @ghostofskywalker

1,2k | Avenger!Loki | fluff

Heavy Petting @wheredafandomat

800 | Loki | smut

I gave your girlfriend cunnilingus on my couch @wheredafandomat

short | Loki | smut, oral (f reserving)

Aftercare @sarahscribbles

680 | Loki | fluff, spicy

If I was your best friend @wheredafandomat

medium | Loki | smut

Worshiped by a God @sarahscribbles

1,1k | Loki | fluff, smut

Best of Friends @just-the-hiddles

long | Actor!Tom Hiddleston | fluff, friends to lovers

Duty of Care @muddyorbsblr

1,9k | Jonathan Pine | smut, fluff

Winter Warmers: A Winters Night on Asgard @lokischambermaid

930 | Asgard!Loki | fluff

The Sandwich Incident @holdmytesseract

1,2k | Tom Hiddleston | fluff, humour

My Girl @lokisgoodgirl

1,8k | Avenger!Loki | smut, man-bun

Lactation @viviluvssmut

1k | Loki | smut, oral (f reserving)

Drabbles

Don't Move, Darling @sarahscribbles

1,1k | Loki | smut, teasing, edging

Time slipping @wheredafandomat

600 | TVA Loki | smut, hurt/comfort

praise kink, gagging, hickies @ragnarachael

short | Jonathan Pine | smut, daddy kink

Headcanons

Loki and the Watcher @benevolentgodloki

✨Happy reading 😊✨

Back to my Fanfiction Bookshelf

Many of the fanfictions are 18+, so if you're under 18, don't read them.

#tom hiddleston #hiddleston #fanfiction #multi chapter #one shot #drabble #headconon #loki #loki laufeyson #fluff #loki fluff #loki smut #smut #fic recs

70 notes · View notes

v-e-l-v-e-t-g-o-l-d-m-i-n-e · 1 year

Text

Louis and his constant worry over Lestat in the books

"Lestat, don't go on the stage tomorrow night," he said. "Let the films and the book do what you want. But protect yourself. Let us come together and let us talk together. Let us have each other in this century the way we never did in the past. And I do mean all of us." - The Vampire Lestat

Louis, the watcher, the patient one, was there on account of love pure and simple. The two had found each other only last night, and theirs had been an extraordinary reunion. Louis would go where Lestat led him. Louis would perish if Lestat perished. But their fears and hopes for this night were heartbreakingly human. - The Queen of the Damned

“Now we can go home,” he said.

Home. I smiled. I reached out and touched the graves on either side of me; I looked up again at the soft glow of the city lights against the ruffled clouds.

“You’re not going to leave us, are you?” he asked suddenly, voice sharpened with distress. - The Queen of the Damned

For a moment, I couldn't understand the expression of horror on his face as he stared at me, or why he suddenly rose and came towards me and bent down and touched my face. Then I remembered. My sun-darkened skin.

"What have you done?" he whispered. He knelt down and looked up at me, resting his hand lightly on my shoulder. Lovely intimacy, but I wasn't going to admit it. I remained composed in the chair.

"It's nothing," I said, "it's finished. I went into a desert place, I wanted to see what would happen..."

"You wanted to see what would happen?" He stood up, took a step back, and glared at me. "You meant to destroy yourself, didn't you?" - The Tale of the Body Thief

I came towards him, planted my hands on his desk and looked into his face. "I was so sure you would understand this. And by the way, I wasn't born a monster! I was a born a mortal child, the same as you. Stronger than you! More will to live than you! That was cruel of you to say."

"I know. It was wrong. Sometimes you frighten me so badly I hurl sticks and stones at you. It's foolish. I'm glad to see you, though I dread admitting it. I shiver at the thought that you might have really brought an end to yourself in the desert! I can't bear the thought of existence now without you! You infuriate me! Why don't you laugh at me? You've done it before." - The Tale of the Body Thief

Dimly I thought I heard Louis’s gentle voice, protesting, pleading, arguing. I heard locks thrown, I heard nails going through wood. I heard Louis begging.

“For a while, just a little while.…” she said. “He is too powerful for us to do anything else. It is either that, or we do away with him.”

“No,” Louis cried. - Memnoch the Devil

I don't live like our friend Louis, wandering from dusty corner to dusty corner, and then back to his flat in the Rue Royale when he's convinced himself once more and for the thousandth time that no one can harm Lestat. - The Vampire Armand

All the faces were soon there, except for Louis and Rose and Viktor. But how could that be? I turned around. They stood only two feet away from me, huddled together, and down the pure whiteness of Louis’s face were two thin lines of blood tears. - Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis

Louis had been gravely hurt that Lestat had gone off to meet Rhoshamandes alone. So Lestat had promised never to do such a thing again. - Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis

#i'm sure i'm forgetting some moments #Vampire Chronicles #the vampire chronicles #Louis de Pointe du Lac #Lestat de Lioncourt #loustat #Lestat x Louis #The Vampire Lestat #the queen of the damned #the tale of the body thief #memnoch #the vampire armand #prince lestat and the realms of atlantis

383 notes · View notes

odetothetheoi · 8 months

Text

a watcher by night, a thief at the gates, one who was soon to show forth wonderful deeds among the deathless gods. Born with the dawning, at mid-day he played on the lyre, and in the evening he stole the cattle of far-shooting Apollo on the fourth day of the month; for on that day queenly Maia bare him.

source

#lord hermes 🐑#hermes worship #hellenic hymns #hellenic polytheism #hermes deity #thank you sm for making my amazon package arrive early <3 #nike musings

85 notes · View notes

rohirric-hunter · 26 days

Text

A Blade for a Life

Look at my 6.3k word oneshot, boy

So I had half of this written and was "basically done" so I sat down to "finish it real quick" and that got out of hand fast. But the half that was already written was mostly written years ago. It all started out as an exercise to figure out how Hathellang interacted with law enforcement in Bree and let me tell you. It absolutely did not do that.

Anyway. Hathellang's POV

~*~*~*~

“You there! Thief!”

You do not recall stealing anything yet today, but the owner of the voice, a stocky, angry-looking Dwarf, is definitely speaking to you. Nonetheless, you indicate yourself and say, “Are you talking to me, sir?”

“Yes!” he growls. “You haven’t seen a sword about, have you? One of mine was stolen this morning.”

You feel a sinking sensation in your stomach. You have not stolen a sword, but it is no mystery why he might suspect you of it. You offer him a disarming smile, at the same time stepping back to put some distance between you. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t,” you say.

“Then you didn’t steal it?” he asks, and you flinch. Chief Watcher Grimbriar is just on the other side of the little roadside cabin that serves as a guard-post along the Greenway north out of Bree-town, and while a glance tells you that he has not yet tuned into this conversation – he is seated on the top step, bending over a sheaf of papers and occasionally marking a map that sits beside him with a piece of charcoal – if the Dwarf maintains this line of questioning he certainly will.

“You can’t make an accusation like that one without evidence,” you say, a little sharply.

“Then that wasn’t you loitering about my shop all this morning?” he asks.

“Your shop?” you repeat. “I don’t know where your shop is. And why would I want to steal a sword? Helena won’t stop making them, even though nobody buys them.” This is not strictly true: Helena is new to swordmaking and most of her attempts so far have not been of high enough quality to be sold. But you are mostly talking to buy time, as you run over your morning in your mind. It had been long and slow; you had arrived in town as the sun rose and gone about gathering work – tailoring work, that is – orders and clothing to be refitted and resized and mending for those too busy to manage it themselves, or wealthy enough to hire the service. This had been done in an hour, but somewhat later in the morning you had had an obligation for the other sort of work you do, and so to pass the time you had purchased a stuffed cabbage from Darin Whitflor and brought it to the Stone Quarter to eat, perched on the jutting foundation of a house just down the street from where several Dwarves share a prolific little smithy. Now you recognize this individual as Lofar Ironband, a craftsman well-known for his quality steel, and the owner of the Dwarf-smithy. You had indeed spent several hours loitering near his shop once you had finished your breakfast, making a start on some of the simpler work in your bag and then catnapping, for the house was built inexpertly, and the foundation offers quite a wide ledge, and the sun had warmed it delightfully.

“It was me,” you say. There is no use in denying it. “But if I was looking for an opening to steal something, I shouldn’t have done it so brazenly. Anyway –” you raise your arms to the side and turn in a quick circle, showing that you are carrying nothing but your work bag “-- do I look like I’ve got a sword on me?”

“No,” Lofar admits, “but you could have done away with it already. Resold it to one of your Man-smiths, maybe? They’re always jealous of Dwarf-craft. Well, I want it back.”

“I don’t have it,” you say bluntly.

Lofar begins to turn, and as you follow his line of movement you realize with a start that Chief Watcher Grimbriar has taken an interest, though he is not looking your way yet. His hand has stilled, and he holds himself with the air of someone who is listening to a conversation that he is not part of.

“Wait!” you say quickly. “I didn’t steal it and I don’t have it, but what do you want? To not get the guards involved, I mean.”

Lofar eyes you suspiciously. “If you didn’t take it, then what’s the harm? If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear.”

“Except two nights in the city jail while they investigate!” you exclaim. “I can’t spend time in jail. I’ve got work to do. There’s another babe come in that’s not been weaned, that’s two now! and two wet nurses that have got to be paid for, not to mention food and clothes for twenty-one, with the winter coming on and all.” You nervously bite at your lower lip. “I’ll ask around, see if I can find out who took your sword.”

Lofar frowns, but he turns to face you, crossing his arms in a manner that brooks no nonsense. “I suppose I know your name and where you live,” he says. “It’s not as if you’re going to skip town in the night.” You could, of course, but you don’t feel that information is likely to be helpful in this circumstance. “I would rather have the sword back than anything. Bring it back and I won’t ask where you got it or who stole it.”

As you shoulder your work bag and turn back toward Bree, you reflect that you will certainly be asking who stole it. There are many people about who, unlike you, have ample reason to steal a sword, and enough of these are not people you particularly trust with one, especially a stolen one. If nothing else, you have a bone to pick with the thief on your own account.

You have no better lead to follow than Lofar’s own suspicion that it was one of the smiths of Bree. You doubt very much that any of them took the sword; you have always known them to be honest, though their rivalry with the local Dwarf-smiths is widely known. Perhaps one of the less experienced young pickpockets who hang about the Mud Gate might have considered it a worthwhile risk, but you very much doubt it. Everyone knows that the best money is in jewelry and coins and other small objects that can be quickly pilfered and easily hidden. And if it was a commissioned burglary, a client paying a thief to take the sword, such arrangements go through Albra Lowbanks, and she will tell you nothing, as sure as the sun rises and sets. Nor will you ask, for she keeps your secrets as well.

The smiths, of course, are patently offended at your questions, and with no better ideas you return to the Stone Quarter to look over the smithy there, but you see nothing out of place. The Dwarves there have seen nothing, save one, who eyes you thoughtfully and asks if you weren’t there earlier in the day. His voice carries no suspicion, and it seems that you will find nothing here, before he mentions almost offhandedly that he has seen more Men here today than in the past week.

“Your lot don’t come down here too often,” he says, wiping his hands on his apron, “meaning no disrespect. But it was you and that other fellow today, and the last one before that was a Ranger. We don’t –”

You cut him off, rather rudely, but this is the first lead you’ve dared entertain. “Who was it?” you ask.

“The one they call Strider, I think,” the Dwarf says. “What do you want to be knowing that for?”

“I apologize,” you say. “Not the Ranger, the other man who was here today.”

“Oh, him,” the Dwarf says. “I don’t rightly know. Young-looking fellow; taller than you, but then most Men are. Red hair. I used to see him at the Man-forge by West-gate quite a lot, but he’s been scarce in the past month.” You crease your brow in thought, and he crosses his arms over his chest defensively. “Well? Just because Dwarf work is better doesn’t mean your lot’s never come up with a trick or two. I’m allowed to learn wherever I please, if you please!”

“I agree!” you say, raising your hands defensively. “And thank you! That’s what I needed to know.”

You quickly take your leave of the Dwarf and turn northward, walking at a brisk pace. You do not recognize the description, but a smithy-worker who has been absent for a month can only be one of the new workers at Thornley’s Work Site. Nearly a month ago Thornley had brought on a great many new workers, in response to the increased brigand activity in recent months. None of them are fighters, as far as you know, but you can certainly imagine why they might want a sword, out in the Bree-fields without even a fence around the site. There is a reason Helena has recently taken an interest in making them.

You have little interest in encountering Lofar again on your way to the work site, so you leave town through the North-gate and skirt along the ridge east of the Greenway. This allows you to avoid Lofar and Grimbriar both, and you are congratulating yourself on your cleverness when you stumble across the body.

The wind is in the south, or you should have smelled the blood and avoided it. As it is, however, you step out from among some dense bushes onto a trail that leads down into a shaded hollow, and there you discover what remains of someone who seems to have fallen afoul of the boars that live in the hollow. There is not much left to identify the man, but as you approach you notice the hilt of a sword lying on the bloody ground where he must have dropped it. The blade is snapped off and nowhere to be found, but the hilt is brand-new and shows no signs of wear, and the detailing is distinctly Dwarven.

You consider, briefly, taking the hilt back to Lofar and washing your hands of the whole business, but the poor sap deserves a burial, if nothing else, and the body cannot be left here. Thornley’s Work Site is close, anyway, so you continue on, twirling the hilt idly in your hands as you walk.

When you arrive at the work site, you ask the first Man you see for the foreman. He raises his arm and opens his mouth to answer, and then he catches sight of the hilt held loosely in your right hand and goes deathly pale. He appears terrified, as if the presence of the hilt spells terrible news, and you can’t but conclude that there are more layers to this mystery than you thought. “What do you know about this?” you ask quickly.

“Nothing!” he says, even more quickly, if that is possible. “Please go away! I – I have work to do. Foreman Rosethorn is over there.”

This Man matches the description the Dwarf at the smithy gave you. “Now look here,” you say, sternly but not unkindly. “I’m not going to rat you out. But I very nearly got pinned for this, and I don’t imagine Master Ironband is going to be too pleased at its condition when I return it.”

The man wavers for a moment, and then says, “Fine, I stole it, but I had a good reason! I wasn’t trying to pin anyone. It was for my family! Nate said he would hurt them if I didn’t make a sword for his captain, Blake. But I didn’t have the iron to forge one, so I took the Dwarf’s! Please, you must understand, it was to save my family! Please don’t tell the constable!”

“Who are Nate and Blake?” you ask. “For that matter, who are you?”

“Who are – why, didn’t you take the hilt from Nate?” he asks.

“If I did, then he’s dead,” you say. “Ran afoul of the boars in the hollow across the Greenway.”

“And good riddance to him,” the man says. “I’m Kenton Thistleway. Nate is, or was, a brigand. He said he was going to test the sword against the workers on the silo across the way. But this is terrible! What if Blake comes looking for his sword? I won’t have one to give him, and they’ll hurt my family!”

That seems likely to you. The Hackberry House has thus far escaped the particular notice of the brigands as they robbed and drove off most everyone around because orphans and abandoned children make for good recruits. Lady Hackberry’s do not, because she raises her children right and sees to it that they are loved and want for nothing she can provide, but you have never felt particularly inclined to share this information with any of the people slipping you shadowy notes promising adventure and freedom and wealth, and even less so in recent years, when the letters changed to offer power and fulfillment. You offer a bounty in sweet honey-cakes to any of the younger children who bring you such a letter, for once you have destroyed it they have no in with the brigands. More than one of them are taking advantage of this arrangement, but it is a small price to pay to keep them out of such mischief. All children, in your opinion, ought to know a few basic swindles anyhow.

You are unsure how much longer this arrangement will keep the household safe, however. It was mainly the Blackwold who recruited locally, and the past several days have brought dark rumors with them. They are outlandish, and you believe less than half of them, but all agree that the Blackwolds are no longer a power to be reckoned with in Bree-land. You are sorry, for you had several friends who had run off to sleep in the woods and live off the land and be their own masters, back when that was all the Blackwolds did. More urgently, the power among the various local gangs is out of balance, and you do not know who will fill the vacuum or what they will do. You fear it will be one of the new lots, composed mainly of strangers from the south, and before long they will come to your home and threaten your family, just as they are doing to Kenton Thistleway.

The Man in question looks deeply uncomfortable, and a little constipated. “Do you think,” he asks slowly, “that Lofar would make another sword? If you asked him and explained the situation, that it’s to save my family?”

“I’ll ask him,” you say. “And if he says no, I might be able to get you a near-endless supply of swords that snap off just above the hilt.”

~*~*~*~

“Another blade?” Lofar exclaims, when you have explained the situation to him. “Another blade? I’m already behind on other work, and now I’ll have to forge a new sword to fill the order this one was for. ‘Time is precious, don’t give it away for nothing,’ my father used to say…” He pauses, brow furrowed in thought. “Actually lost my father to brigands a few years back. Wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

“Bah!” he says, sounding annoyed, though it is not directed at you. “Give me that hilt. I must be getting soft. I’ll help that Kenton Thistleway, but with two conditions. First one is that if that brigand don’t come around looking for the sword, I get it back. Second, Thistleway gives me a hand and does some of the simpler work I’ve got piling up.” He fiddles with the straps on a workbag much like yours and produces a bellows. “These need new leather. Take them back to Thistleway and tell him I’ll send two or three more projects later today. If he fixes them all and I’m happy with his work, I’ll call it even on the cost of the two swords.”

You take the bellows under your arm – they are too big to fit into your work bag – and once again turn north up the Greenway. Once you have delivered Lofar’s message and bellows, you think, you will turn for home; you have much still to do this day, and you are hungry. The sun is well past its zenith now. You wonder if there are any honey cakes at the house, and if Gareth will have your hide if you take them.

Kenton Thistleway is nervously pacing when you return. You explain Lofar’s offer to him and he takes the bellows almost eagerly. He examines them carefully, and then nods in satisfaction. “I can repair this in an afternoon,” he says, “but I’ll need some leather to replace the worn patches.”

This whole affair is really no longer your business, but you hate to leave a task unfinished, so you quickly volunteer, “I can get you some.” Kenton ought at least to have a sword to bargain with, you think, before you can quite call this done.

He looks at you like you hung the stars, and you excuse yourself quickly and rather awkwardly. The Hackberry House is a short walk away, half an hour, perhaps, or less if you are willing to take a shortcut across Eric Dogwood’s fields. The outer fields lie fallow, as Eric and his wife Eltrys are too old to work so far from their home, and their son Horace had run off before the spring planting. Some of the children at the Hackberry House sometimes set aside time over the summer to assist them, especially Helena, and Léonys when she was not busy, but none of you had the time or resources to plant and maintain entire fields. If the harvest is not good, the Dogwoods may lose their farm – that is, if brigands and worse do not drive them off of it first.

The Hackberry House is larger than most other houses in the Bree-fields, except perhaps the Thornleys’. It boasts two stories and three outbuildings on a sizeable parcel of land: Lady Hackberry had inherited a comfortable fortune in land, livestock, and money from her father, though the latter is spread quite thin in recent years, with more children than she is really able to house about, and the brigands driving up the prices of whatever goods they don’t manage to steal.

The land is surrounded by a hedge, perhaps waist-high to you, which serves to keep some six cows, three sheep, and a dozen or so chickens contained. The only gate opens to the east, but you approach from the north and jump the hedge quite easily. Lady Hackberry has told you not to do this many times, but from here it is a clear shot to the tanning shed, where Léonys lays out and cures leather from her hunting trips. The place reeks, but you are more than used to it, and you slip in and begin browsing the drying racks, where finished leathers hang, ready to be sorted. After a few moments you find something suitable for bellows and reach up to undo the clamps that keep it on the rack.

“Hathellang?”

You turn with a start to see the form of Lady Hackberry framed in the doorway. “Oh! Lady Hackberry,” you say. “You startled me.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she says. “Will you be home for dinner?"

"I hope so," you say. "I just have a quick errand to run and then I'll be heading home for the day." You pull the leather down and walk towards the door, taking her hands in yours and squeezing them affectionately.

She smiles fondly. "Don't forget, you promised Anna you would help her at the forge this afternoon."

"I won't," you say. "I couldn't if I tried. She's spoken of little else since last night."

Lady Hackberry leans forward and presses an affectionate kiss to your forehead, and the two of you step out into the late morning sunlight.

~*~*~*~

You don't think you could have been gone for more than half an hour, but when you return to Thornley’s Work Site, Kenton Thistleway has abandoned all pretense of getting work done. Indeed, everyone has. He is sitting on the ground beside his forge, head in his hands, with some unfinished nails scattered on the ground about. The other workers are clustered in little groups, speaking quietly together or casting pitying looks toward Kenton. The foreman looks very displeased with the whole situation, but has made no move to encourage anyone to return to work.

Kenton looks up as you approach, and speaks before you can ask what happened. “Oh, it’s terrible! Blake, the brigand-captain who wanted the sword, came and told me he knew Nate was dead and that he knew I had something to do with it! I tried to tell him I didn’t, that I would have another sword for him soon, but he wouldn’t listen.” The man pauses and takes several steadying breaths. “He said he’s taken my daughter, Maribell! If I don’t give him another sword, and soon, he’ll kill her!”

This affair is really no longer your business, a voice in your mind says, but it’s a quiet one, and you brush it aside. “Get ahold of yourself,” you say. “We’ll get the man a sword, then. Where is he?”

“The brigand-camp in the Bree-fields, up to the west,” Kenton says. “Blake’s in charge there.”

You swing the rolled-up leather down from your shoulder where you were carrying it and drop it unceremoniously on the ground at Kenton’s feet. “Well, there’s that,” you say. “I’ll go get the sword from Mr. Ironband and take it to Blake.”

“Please hurry,” he says. You don’t respond, instead turning away and making for the Greenway at a light jog.

You are sweaty and out of breath by the time you reach the cabin guard-post, where Lofar Ironband still stands, talking to Chief Watcher Grimbriar. It seems to be a discussion of some importance, as both of them are consulting pieces of parchment and making notes on them in charcoal, but it doesn’t interest you. “Have you -- have you finished -- Thistleway’s sword yet?” you ask, gasping for breath and supporting yourself on your knees.

Lofar looks at you as if you had asked him if he had managed to lay an egg. “Do you know how long it takes to make a sword?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “Listen, Blake came back and told Thistleway that he has his daughter Maribell up at the brigand camp west of the Everclear Lakes, and he’ll kill her if he doesn’t have a sword and soon.”

The Dwarf’s face softens. “This is bad,” he says. “No, I don’t have a sword. I have a few in progress and I sent word to my assistants to finish one as soon as may be, but I don’t have it yet. I know these types of fellows. they won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. They’ll kill that girl! You’ll have to mount a rescue.”

You turn and look expectantly at Chief Watcher Grimbriar.

“No,” he says. “Brigand’s Watch? They have a fortification built up there, and can see for miles around. They see a guard anywhere nearby and they’ll kill the girl without a second thought, and do who knows what else. I don’t have the men for a full assault.”

“So you’re just going to leave her?” you ask.

Grimbriar looks at you long and hard, and at length he says, “You’re the one who broke into the Briarstones’ estate last month, I know it. Slipped right past their dogs, somehow.”

“Well --” you say, “you can’t prove that.” You are actually quite proud of the feat, and don’t often get the chance to brag about it. Lady Hackberry feels it’s an inappropriate topic of conversation for mealtimes.

“Unfortunately, no,” the Chief Watcher agrees. “But I know it’s true. And if anyone can make it into Brigand’s Watch undetected, it’s the man who got past six bloodhounds without getting caught. What do you say?”

“I’m a tailor, Grimbriar,” you say. “I don’t adventure.” You know that he knows this is not true, but it’s only good form for him to keep up the ruse when he doesn’t have any evidence.

“So you’re just going to leave her?” he says.

~*~*~*~

The brigands have left one approach to their camp unwatched, and that’s the northern side, where the land rises up into a cluster of foothills around Starmere Lake, nestled beneath the Wildwood to the north and the Brandywood to the west. It is no small wonder; the land is wild here, too rocky for farming and too overrun for grazing. A few hunters come here occasionally, or so you have heard, but not many. It is far from Bree-town and Léonys has told you that it’s more trouble than it’s worth to haul a kill back from these woods, not with the Chetwood so near the town.

They’ve erected a palisade around their camp, but it’s a rush job, just a lot of logs driven into the ground and lashed together with rope. They’ve felled a great many trees to the south-east for this, which serves the double purpose of clearing the land between them and the town, and the farms and homesteads between. It doesn’t seem much like the other brigand camps you’ve seen -- the Blackwolds had watchmen, but their main camps were always nestled in comfortable ruins. This feels like they expect an attack of some sort, and it puts you on edge.

Not so on edge that you aren’t able to approach the palisade undetected. You hear voices on the other side, slurring with alcohol, but after a moment they pass on. You test the logs -- they’re placed sturdily enough -- and then quickly pull yourself up by the rope lashing the tops of them together, swing a leg between the sharpened points of the logs, and then throw yourself the rest of the way over, landing in a roll on the ground. You scramble to your feet immediately and duck behind a nearby tent, tucking your cloak close around you and hoping that to the casual observer you will look like just another bundle or blanket scattered around the sleeping area. But no one seems to have noticed your intrusion, and after a few moments you stand and quickly glance about.

You see no sign of any captives, but people typically keep things they don’t want to be stolen inward, rather than outward, and you imagine the same applies to prisoners they don’t want to escape. There is a gap in the palisade nearby, and from the outside you had seen a smaller compound here, tucked between two steep spurs of rock in the cliff behind. You quickly walk toward it, hoping anyone who sees you will assume you are simply one of their own, and slip inside.

There is a cage built on wheels inside the little area, and inside it you see a young woman sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest. She looks up as you approach, but does not speak at once.

“I’m here to help,” you say as you examine the lock. It’s a simple two-pin lock like thousands of others you could pick with your eyes closed, but the workmanship is odd -- shoddy. The metal is not formed well and it seems to you that someone tried to cool it too fast, and perhaps also form it when it was not hot enough. No smith in Bree-land that you know of would put their name to such work. You wonder where it came from.

“I filched the key a while ago,” the girl, Maribell, says, sitting up and reaching into her pocket. “I was too scared to use it, though. There are so many of them.”

From her voice, you think she’s about Helena’s age. She hands you a key that is somewhat better made than the lock, but still not good. “All right,” you say. You unlock the cage door, but even as Maribell slips out, you hear a sound to your right.

The cage is not the only structure in the little inner palisade. There is also a tent, larger than the ones outside and with blankets and furs covering the floor inside, and from this tent a man has emerged. He is holding an ugly rowan club, little more than a broken branch that someone has tied some rags around for a handle, and he looks angry.

“That’s Blake!” Maribell hisses, and you see why Thistleway was so intimidated by him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he snaps. “You’d better have a sword for me, boy.”

“You know,” you grumble, stepping forward to face Blake, “if I had a silver for every time someone asked me if I had a sword today, I would have two. It’s not very many, but it’s odd that it happened twice, seeing as how I’m very clearly not carrying a sword.”

Blake charges, raising the club high. You stoop to the ground, catch a handful of dust, dry grass, wood shavings, and small pebbles, and then straighten up and throw the lot directly into his face. He stops short, dropping the club, and clutches at his eyes with both hands. Almost in the same movement you step forward, snatch a dagger from his belt with your other hand, and drive it upwards, into his abdomen.

You turn away from Blake before he hits the ground. “Quick, over the palisade,” you say, pointing at a stack of crates behind the cage. Maribell nods and climbs the crates, gingerly pulls herself to the top of the palisade, and then slips over it. You follow as quickly as you may. Even as you stand up, you hear a shout from inside the palisade behind you, and you take Maribell’s hand and the two of you begin to run.

~*~*~*~

Thornley’s Work Site is probably the nearest safe place, or safer, at any rate. The two of you hurry north for some distance before turning west to pass the Everclear Lakes on the north. You are both exhausted, but you don’t stop running until you reach the work site. Work has not resumed in the past few hours, and murmurs and then cheers arise as the two of you approach. You slow to a halt, leaning against the foundation of the building in progress to catch your breath, but at the sight of her father Maribell seems to gain a second win and she runs ahead and throws herself into his arms.

Kenton Thistleway catches his daughter and pulls her close, holding her tight. Someone offers you a waterskin and you accept it gratefully. You aren’t used to so much running after a heist; usually there is a hiding spot much closer that you can retreat to until everything blows over. And you dearly hope this blows over. Hopefully none of the brigands got a good look at your face -- else this might lead to dire consequences for you and your family. The Hackberry House is not too far from Brigand’s Watch.

You aren’t sure how long it is before Kenton approaches you, Maribell just behind him. He clasps your hand in his and there are unshed tears in his eyes. “Bless you,” he says. “You’ve returned my daughter safe to me! I cannot thank you enough!”

“How about some more water?” you ask, trying to lighten the mood. Really, you would rather not think about what might have happened to Maribell, for a number of reasons.

“Get the man some water!” Kenton shouts to no one in particular, and although you know he has no real authority here, someone passes up another waterskin, which he presses into your hands. “You’ve done so much for me,” he says. His expression darkens. “What about Blake?” he asks.

“Blake is dead,” Maribell quickly says. “He --” she looks at you and you realize with a start that you have not introduced yourself to her.

“Hathellang,” you say.

“Hathellang killed him,” Maribell says. “And good riddance to him.”

The foreman pushes through the workers and scowls at Kenton. “Thistleway,” he says, “take your daughter and go home. Take the rest of the day off. And next time you’re getting blackmailed, don’t just come in and not say anything about it. Tusks o’ fury!”

Kenton gathers his tools and he and Maribell head south along the Greenway. It is not the quickest way back to the Hackberry House, but you opt to walk with them. There is safety in numbers, and you would rather see them safe at least as far as the guard’s cabin, since you’ve apparently decided to make this affair your business.

When you arrive at the cabin, Lofar is still there. He looks up as your little party approaches with a broad smile. “Excellent!” he calls. “Glad no harm came to the lass.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kenton says. “I’m so sorry for stealing your sword. Thank you for being so understanding.”

“Don’t thank me,” Lofar says gruffly. “I sent you some work to do. What about it?”

“I haven’t finished it,” Kenton said. “I’ve barely started. I haven’t been able to focus much today. But here’s what I have.” He pauses to swing his workbag from his shoulder and draw out what you recognize as a set of old bellows-leather, marked to be used as a template for a replacement.

“Well, I can see you know what you’re doing,” Lofar says. “What’s all this?”

“The leather was cut wrong at the ends,” Kenton says. “It was putting too much strain here and here when they were used. They still worked, but that’s why they were wearing out so fast. I’ve added an extra measure at each end and I’ll reinforce these stress points when I replace it, so they’ll last longer before it needs replaced again.”

You think you see a spark of respect in Lofar’s eye, but he just nods and says, “Very good, very good. That’s good sense, that. Almost as sharp as a Dwarf-smith, this one. You can expect more work from me in the future, Thistleway.”

“Thank you,” Kenton says. You think he recognizes the high praise for what it is, coming from Lofar Ironband.

“I’ll be off, then,” you say.

“Not so fast,” Lofar says.

You scowl. “I have work to do too, Ironband,” you say. “Don’t tell me you want me to find another sword for you.”

“No,” Lofar says. “Actually, this is for you, seeing as how Thistleway doesn’t need it anymore.” He holds out a long, suspiciously sword-shaped bundle wrapped in cloth. “My assistant just brought it to me not an hour ago.”

You stare at it for a long moment. “Sir,” you say at length. “What am I going to do with a sword?”

Lofar scowls. “Consider it compensation for the fact that I accused you of a crime you didn’t commit and then tried to get you arrested,” he says.

“All right,” you say, taking the weapon. “Thank you, I suppose.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. “Just don’t actually be stealing anything from my shop.”

You look pointedly at Chief Watcher Grimbriar, who is standing behind Lofar with smugness and frustration warring on his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ironband,” you say.

“Bah!” Grimbriar says. “Get out of here, Hackberry.”

You consider a parting barb, but think better of it, and instead you hurry ahead, down the lane that leads to the North-gate. More work to be done; you have to get rid of this sword. You have no use for a sword. But at least it should fetch a good price, if not at the market then among the Man-smiths near the West-gate. After you have dealt with this, you promise yourself, you will be headed directly home and you will not go out again today.

As you pass the Windview Estate and near the Sandheaver home, you stop short. You would recognize the bright green and red jacket up ahead anywhere -- but Léonys cannot be here. She’s on a hunt, in the north-eastern Chetwood, up away past Archet. You break into a jog, and call her name, but she does not hear you, and she turns and walks towards the West-gate, and when you round the corner and look after her she is gone.

You turn back to where Lily Sandheaver is standing outside her house. “Was that Léonys?” you ask breathlessly.

“Yes, it was,” she says. “Why do you ask?”

“What’s she doing here?” you ask.

“Nothing, anymore!” Lily says, and chuckles at her own joke. “She just bought some traveling rations from me, and firewood from Pasco Underhill up the hill. Said something about going into the Old Forest and not wanting to risk cutting wood there.”

You stare at Lily in disbelief for a moment. “The Old Forest?” you ask incredulously. “Whatever would she want in there?”

“Well I don’t know,” Lily says. “And what’s more, she said she was going by way of the Barrow-downs! It’s quicker, she said. Seemed in a terrible great hurry.”

What could Léonys possibly be thinking? You glance down the road to the West-gate, and then drop your eyes to the bundle in your hands. Well, perhaps you have a use for a sword after all.

“I’d like to buy some travel rations as well,” you say.

“Of course,” Lily says, and she collects a small bundle from the crate she keeps on her porch to sell to workers and travelers leaving town who have forgotten their lunches. “Forty-eight coppers, please.”

You count out the money, and bundle the meal into your pocket, then unwrap the sword. It’s a nice thing, sturdy and well-made, Dwarven designs worked into the hilt and pommel and running up one side of the otherwise unadorned sheath. You undo your belt and slide the scabbard loops over it, settling the weapon on your left hip, and then with a nod at Lily you turn and leave Bree behind, following Léonys out the West-gate, towards the Barrow-downs.

#lotro #lotro fanfic #the wind will set me racing #lotro oc #love my idiot son #my idiot son loves his idiot girlfriend #im an idiot too btw. were a trifecta

29 notes · View notes

keldae · 3 months

Note

8. “If you give me a minute….I think I can make this worse.”

This was officially worse than the djinni incident, in Gale’s humble opinion.

First, he had been left in the camp that morning, when he’d woken up with a headache that wouldn’t abate, even with Shadowheart’s healing touch. He’d been forced to sit by while Devi had ventured out with Wyll, Astarion, and Jaheira – and the fretting about his beloved half-Elf did not ease his headache at all, even with Jaheira’s assurances that she wouldn’t let her “cub” get into too much trouble, despite Bhaalists and a psychotic shapeshifter in the form of Orin running around Baldur’s Gate.

An hour after the four had left, there had been what had to be the far-away, but still distinct sounds of a riot happening – yells, and explosions, and the too-familiar noises of a Steel Watcher mechanically issuing orders. Gale’s gut instincts told him that Devi was somehow involved.

The riot noises eventually subsided, and for a good portion of the day, it had been suspiciously peaceful around the camp. Gale’s headache still wasn’t going away, but after drinking an herbal tea that he’d sent Karlach to go barter for (thank Mystra that the tiefling had gotten the right one), it was almost bearable. He suspected he would be fine to accompany his beloved little thief in the morning on her next venture out into the city.

The Fist patrol stopping by the ramshackle camp was a surprise. The two guards had looked around the site for a minute, tilting their heads at Lae’zel and her impressive weapons collection, and blinking at the large owlbear cub (who Halsin, before his abduction, had named Garmus), and politely nodding at Dame Aylin and Isobel, before taking their leave. Apparently the nautiloid survivors weren’t the only adventurers to make their temporary residence in the run-down alleys of the Lower City – the Fist soldiers didn’t seem perturbed by their presence.

The two Guild members who had popped in about an hour later were another surprise. Gale felt his headache resurge when the dragonborn had asked about “a pretty half-Elf with her hands in everyone’s pockets, and a devil with a sword who looked a lot like a younger Duke Ravengard, and another particularly pale Elf with red eyes, and the older woman who was trying to corral the lot of them”. Eventually accepting that nobody left in the camp knew what the hells their friends had gotten into, the Guild members finally shrugged and walked off.

Then one of Jaheira’s adopted children had meandered in, took one look around for the High Harper, swore under her breath, and left the same way she’d come.

“Something’s gone wrong,” Gale said, fidgeting with his staff and ignoring Shadowheart trying to push him back to his tent. “Gods be damned, I should have gone with them!”

“You weren’t able to so much as sit up without your head trying to kill you until after noon!” Shadowheart retorted. “Sit down, or I’ll stuff a sleeping potion down your throat, Gale.”

Gale gifted the cleric with a scowl, then set to pacing through the camp, disregarding Shadowheart’s threat. “We need to find them. We should have set out when we first heard the pandemonium this morning. If we–”

“Baldur’s Gate’s a big city,” Karlach dubiously pointed out. “You really wanna go meandering down every street and back alley to find them? Jaheira and Devi can both blend into a crowd.”

“Wyll and Astarion both stand out though,” Lae’zel commented. “Unless there are other devils walking around the city with swords on their backs, or Elvish vampires. Surely we can find them.”

“Unless they’ve taken to the sewers again, or the rooftops,” Shadowheart said. She ignored Gale’s groan at the distinct possibility. “And gods help whoever tries to find someone in the sewers. If it were me, and I was being hunted by apparently everyone in the city, that’s where I would go.” She watched Gale pacing back and forth, and sighed. “Scratch, get Gale to sit down, will you?”

Scratch just barked inquisitively at Shadowheart, then trotted over to Isobel for pets.

“That wasn’t helpful,” Shadowheart muttered.

Dame Aylin chuckled, leaning against the wall. “I’m sure they’ll turn up soon – Deviali’s quite the resourceful one. She–” She yelped in surprise as the stones by her feet suddenly started to wriggle. “What the hells!”

A manhole was opened, disguised (for some reason that Gale would never be able to wrap his head around) by the cobblestones. Wyll’s horned head popped out of the opening; the warlock looked around, then grinned and looked back down. “Right one this time!” he called, before scrambling out of the hole. “So… we’ve had a day,” he started to say, brushing off his clothes from gods-only-knew-what. “Do you really want the details?”

“Oh, hell yes!” Karlach crowed, eyes alight with excitement.

Wyll made a face. “All right. So it started with Devi trying – and failing – to pick a Fist’s pocket… again. She got caught, and it was either ‘pick a fight and earn the ire of the entire Fist, plus a Steel Watcher’, or ‘run’, so we decided to run – or rather, she decided to run, and the three of us got roped in with her since the Fist’s companions had seen us together earlier.”

“Was that the riot noises we heard?” Isobel asked, tilting her head.

“I’m getting there.” Wyll sighed. “So, Devi decided to pick an escape route that took us through a crowd of people in a bazaar, and naturally the Fist gave chase. Here’s where it gets bad – my horns may have caught a low-hanging sign on a building as I was running and knocked it down, but it was attached with a clothesline to another building’s facade and brought it down in the middle of the crowd.”

That got winces from everyone listening. “Anyone hurt?” Shadowheart asked.

“Probably, but we didn’t have time to stop and check,” Wyll answered. “We somehow escaped some of the notice, but some of the civilians noticed the Fist and the Steel Watcher, and blamed them. Half of them started shouting at the soldiers, and the other half was trying to catch us. It was chaos.”

“So that was the sound of the riot…” Lae’zel murmured. “We wondered what that was.”

“If you give me a minute, I think I can make this story worse,” Wyll dryly said.

Gale stared at the warlock, his brain pounding in his skull. “It gets worse? Worse than the four of you being chased by the Fist and half of the Lower City?”

Wyll just winced and nodded. “Devi’s fine,” he quickly assured the wizard. “... Relatively speaking.”

Gale felt his eye twitch. “What do you mean, ‘relatively speaking’?”

“I’m getting there, Gale, keep your robes on. Where was I?” Wyll thought for a moment. “Ah, yes. So, we were running, and Devi ducked down an alley to throw off pursuit. There was an open manhole in the alley, so naturally the four of us dived down it.”

“Even Astarion?” Karlach asked with a laugh.

“Even Astarion,” Wyll confirmed. “We got down the ladder and started down the corridor we were in, until we came around a corner and found a group of Bhaalist cultists having some sort of a meeting. I’m not sure which of our groups was more startled – them, or us. But, you know Bhaalists – the weapons were coming out, no matter how Devi tried to talk us out of it.”

Gale sat down on a bench and started rubbing his temples. “How bad was it?”

“Surprisingly not that bad, all things considered. But, I do think I have to kill Mizora for fucking with my magic,” Wyll muttered. “It wouldn’t surprise me if she had done that, just to mess with me.”

“That’s a demon for you,” Dame Aylin said with a sage nod. “... What did you do?”

Wyll sighed, then took a subtle step away from Gale. “So, I was casting a spell, and was aiming at one of the cultists, but my spell went completely sideways… literally.” He gave Gale a sidelong look. “Devi… may or may not have gotten hit by it.”

Gale was back on his feet in a heartbeat, staff in his hands. “What?”

“It was an accident!” Wyll cried out. “And in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t that bad a spell–”

Before he quite realised he was moving, Gale was in Wyll’s face and staring the other man down, his headache increased by his freshly-renewed bad mood. “What. Spell?”

“... Polymorph,” Wyll sheepishly said. “At least it wasn’t the eldritch blast?”

“Just what the hells did you polymorph her into?” Gale demanded.

Wyll just looked down at the manhole as another pair of gloved hands suddenly emerged. Jaheira clambered out of the manhole, grumbling under her breath and with a fiercely-wriggling satchel on her hip. Devi and Astarion, Gale noted with no small amount of dread, were nowhere to be seen. The High Harper looked at Wyll and smirked. “Ah, so you survived telling our resident wizard what you did to his beloved?”

“It was an accident, I swear!” Wyll said, quickly looking back at Gale. “If it’s any consolation, apparently it was a two-for-one cast – Astarion got hit with the polymorph as well.”

“And turned into what?” Shadowheart asked, coming up behind Gale with a curious look in her eyes.

In answer, Jaheira reached into her satchel and started fishing around. “Ow!” she exclaimed, glaring at the satchel and its contents before extracting both hands from the bag. In each hand, she held a writhing, angry kitten by the scruff of its neck – one coppery-red with green eyes, and one with bright white fur.

“... You polymorphed them into cats?” Gale demanded as Karlach collapsed with a howl of laughter.

“If it’s any consolation, I intended on polymorphing the cultist I was targeting into a sheep–” Wyll started to say.

“That is not consolation!” Gale reached out for the coppery kitten; Jaheira was only too willing to hand the cat over. The kitten, who had to be Devi to go by the fur and eye colour, stared at Gale as he held her at arm’s length and meowed plaintively at him. “Oh, my love,” Gale sighed, “what the hells happened to you?”

“Don’t listen to her complaining about the satchel,” Jaheira growled. “She and Astarion both got distracted with trying to chase a rat down there, and it fell to me to wrangle them into the bag!”

“There was also the Guild member we came across, who Astarion bit on the ankle before Jaheira could catch him, and I fell through a weak wall while chasing Devi and wound up in someone’s basement, so we had to run again while the homeowner was chasing us, and then there were the very angry githyanki loyalists who were coming after us for a spell, not to mention a couple more Fist soldiers when we accidentally came up through the wrong manholes…” Wyll trailed off as Gale glared at him. “... But, we made it back to camp safe and sound! And now if you’ll excuse me, I have a demon to summon so I can tell her off.”

Gale watched the younger man step away (probably making good his escape from the wizard’s wrath), then looked at the kitten in his hands and sighed. “What am I going to do with you, Devi?” he asked. “I suppose I should be grateful Wyll didn’t turn you into a mouse or a pigeon.”

The kitten meowed at him again; Gale shook his head, then drew the small animal up to his chest. Devi promptly used the opportunity to scale his robes with sharp little claws, earning winces from the wizard until she had reached his shoulder. She gave the wizard a headbutt, then meowed in his ear before curling up in a ball, precariously balanced on him. Gale sighed again, then watched as Jaheira handed a loudly-complaining Astarion-as-a-cat off to Shadowheart. “How long ago was that fight with the cultists, and the spell?” he asked.

Jaheira eyed the sun’s position in the sky contemplatively. “I would think about three hours ago?”

Gale froze. “... Polymorph spells don’t usually last longer than one hour!”

“I’m aware, Gale. I’m going with Wyll’s theory that his broken contract with Mizora is having an effect on his spells. We can be worried if they haven’t transformed back by the morning.” Jaheira shook her head and went back to examining the scratches in the leather of her gloves, left by tiny feline claws. “I should have something in my house about reversing a long-term-effect polymorph, but it will be a little difficult for me to get there with the Fist actively looking for us. I can try tomorrow, when the chase grows cold.”

Gale pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling his headache merrily pounding through his brain, then glanced over as he heard a noisy purr from his shoulder. “Oh, I’m glad you’re comfortable,” he dryly said to the kitten that had been his lover only that morning.

Devi mewed at him, then got back on her paws, carefully balancing on Gale’s shoulder as she started grooming his beard with a rough little tongue. Gale sighed, looking skyward. “Just how much of this are you going to remember when you eventually transform back?” he asked. “You did remember being a cheese. Then again, shapeshifters tend to adopt the instincts of whatever they have shifted into, and a cheese doesn’t really have any sort of an instinct…”

“Polymorphing is just strange,” Karlach said as she came up to Gale, eyeing Devi-the-cat, then looking over as Shadowheart tried to hand Astarion off to Lae’zel, who wanted nothing to do with the vampire cat. The tiefling was still grinning from ear to ear as she addressed Devi. “How about it? Are you gonna remember grooming your other half when we eventually get you back into a half-Elf?”

Devi meowed and went back to her task of grooming Gale’s beard.

Karlach laughed as Gale softly groaned. “It is kind of hilarious, Gale – and Devi makes a very cute kitten.” She glanced over at Lae’zel and Shadowheart. “Astarion would make a cute cat, if he wasn’t trying to scratch everyone’s eyes out,” she added, her voice raised enough to make herself pointedly clear.

Astarion just growled, loudly enough for Gale and Karlach to hear him ten paces away, even over the sounds of Wyll having a loud argument with Mizora by his tent. The white cat’s ire just got a snicker from Karlach before she reached to pet Devi’s back. “Y’know, from how you climb roofs so easily and how quiet you move, I always wondered if you were part cat, somewhere in your heritage.”

Gale blinked at the tiefling. “You think she has tabaxi heritage, besides the human and Elven blood?”

Karlach shrugged. “Maybe that, or one of her ancestors was a druid whose preferred wild form was a cat of some sort?”

“... It’s not the most unlikely idea I’ve ever heard,” Gale finally admitted. His eyes flicked down to the kitten on his shoulder. “Unfortunately, we’ll never know the truth of the matter–” He yelped as Devi batted at his earring, earning a snort from Karlach, then reached up for the cat. “All right, I have my boundaries, darling. The earring is off-limits, even for you.”

Devi meowed in protest as Gale brought her back down to his arms.

“No, I don’t care if you don’t like it,” Gale informed the kitten. “You are not allowed to play with my earring – it’s bad enough that I was tolerating you grooming me!” He sighed and gave Devi a rub behind her pointed ears, earning a purr. “All I need is for Tara to appear now and accuse me of replacing her with a younger, cuter feline companion.”

“She a jealous type of tressym?” Karlach asked with a laugh.

“Is there any other type?” Gale dryly asked, and got another snort from the tiefling. The wizard sighed and shook his head. “And I thought my headache this morning was terrible enough. I think it’s on its way to becoming a migraine.”

“Go rest in your tent – Devi might behave for you, since you’re her favourite person.” Karlach set her hands on Gale’s shoulders and gave him a gentle push to the tents. “I’ll help the others try to corral Astarion. Maybe if we put him on a leash…”

Gale paused, pursing his lips. “... My headache isn’t so bad that I can’t conjure up a leash for him,” he finally said. He pointedly ignored the feeling of Astarion’s feline glare on him as he waved his hand, and a leash appeared out of thin air. “Behold, my contribution to keeping Astarion from running off. And now, I’m going to go and take a nap.”

“Sweet dreams!” Karlach laughed as she collected the leash and made her way up to Shadowheart and Lae’zel, and the cat they were struggling to restrain. “You know, if you were less of an escape artist, we wouldn’t have to resort to these drastic measures, Astarion…”

Ruefully chuckling, Gale shook his head, then made his way back to his tent, depositing Devi on his bedroll before magically securing the tent flap, and any other avenue of escape the cat could make use of. “The longer you behave, the better your odds of not getting your own leash,” he informed the cat.

Devi meowed, then as Gale laid down, started grooming his hair.

Gale sighed. “I give up. You’re just going to groom me, no matter what I say, hmm?” He rested his head on the pillow, feeling as Devi licked his hair a few more times, then curled up beside his head and started purring. He reached up to give her pets, and felt the purring grow louder. “Thank you for choosing me as your favourite person, my love,” he chuckled, closing his eyes, letting himself drift off to sleep with his lover-as-a-cat beside him.

—

The evening mealtime did not see the two rogues returned to their biped forms. Gale poked at the fish on his plate, watching Devi, who was alternating her time between sitting at his side, waiting for another bite of his meal, and scampering around the campsite, never out of Gale’s field of vision. The wizard suspected she was intentionally flaunting her freedoms in front of Astarion, who was on the end of the leash secured under Lae’zel’s foot and making sure everyone knew he was not happy about it.

“It’s your own fault you’re on the leash, you know,” Wyll informed Astarion, munching on a roll. “If you hadn’t tried to climb up a building to escape…”

“I think putting all the fault on Astarion may not be warranted,” Gale muttered. “Contrary though he may be on the best of days.”

Wyll sighed. “It was an accident! And I said I was sorry for accidentally polymorphing both of them into cats!”

“And Gale will continue to be grouchy until the spell wears off and he has his woman back,” Karlach pointed out with a snicker. “Where is Devi, anyway?”

Gale looked around, then nodded with his head as Garmus the owlbear cub came lumbering up to the fire, Devi perched on his head like a proud knight. Scratch trotted beside the pair, tongue lolling out happily. “She probably won’t go far,” he said. “I’m here, and I have food – and I threatened her with her own leash if she didn’t behave.”

“Smart,” Jaheira said. “And coming from you, the cub – er, kitten – probably won’t push that argument too much.” She smirked. “Partially because she loves you, and partially because she knows you’ll follow through with it.”

A little smirk on his lips, Gale broke off a piece of hard cheese, then lowered his hand. “Psspsspssp,” he said, then sighed as Scratch scampered over first. “No, not you, Scratch.”

Scratch whined at Gale and set a heavy chin on his knee, looking up at him with big, soulful brown eyes.

Gale sighed again, then fed Scratch the cheese before breaking off another piece. “Devi!” he called. “Come here, before Scratch eats everything for you off of my plate.”

Devi meowed, then jumped off Garmus’ head and raced over to Gale, her tail standing straight up behind her. She leaped up onto the bench beside the wizard, then took the cheese from his fingers, happily eating it.

“That’s my girl,” Gale murmured approvingly, petting Devi’s back and hearing her purr. He handed her a piece of fish next, which she devoured. “Karlach was right, you know. You do make a cute kitten.”

With a mew, Devi finished her piece of fish, then climbed onto Gale’s lap.

“Although I’ll still be much happier when you’re a person again.” Gale ruefully chuckled, rubbing behind Devi’s ears as he lifted his plate safely out of range of both the cat and Scratch. “Veni et iuva me,” he muttered, and a Mage Hand appeared to rescue the plate, freeing both his hands to pet Devi. “Honestly, how do you and Astarion have such poor luck with being polymorphed? First the cheese, now the cats… in less than a tenday!”

“At least this time, neither of them is at risk of being eaten?” Shadowheart asked. She looked down at Astarion as he headbutted her leg. “You had your chance to get pets, and you tried to bite my hand. No pets for you.”

Astarion loudly meowed his protest.

Shadowheart sighed, then broke off another piece of her fish and fed it to the vampire cat. “I will say, we didn’t need to feed either of them when they were cheese.”

“Yes, but it's generally frowned upon to pet a wheel of cheese,” Wyll commented. “And they're cuter as cats than as food.”

“Technically,” Lae’zel pointed out, “they could be food if one was desperate enough…”

Gale frowned and tugged Devi a little closer to his chest. “Don't worry, my love,” he said to the cat. “I won't let anyone try to eat you.”

Devi purred, pushing her head into Gale's hands for more pets; the wizard obliged her willingly. “We appear to have gotten both extremes of cats; the snuggly cat who adores pets, and the standoffish cat who is a little too free with the claws,” he mused.

Astarion meowed at Gale, sounding more than a little put-out.

“Am I wrong?” Gale retorted. “Your own bad behaviour is why you're leashed now!”

Devi meowed, then jumped off Gale's lap and pounced on Astarion. The vampire cat irritably yowled and retaliated against Devi's attack, quickly getting tangled up in his leash.

Gale sighed, watching the two cats tussle. “... I really shouldn't just sit here and watch,” he said. “If I were a responsible sort of wizard, I would separate them.”

“But it would be hilarious if they transformed back right now,” Karlach pointed out with a grin. “Awww, Astarion is still bitey even as a cat!”

“Hopefully not for the same reason as his biting as a person,” Shadowheart said. She set down her plate, then took a deep breath and dove her hands into the fray, emerging with Devi held by the scruff of her neck. “Was picking a fight with Astarion really necessary?” she scolded.

Devi meowed, a definite note of annoyance in her tone, and waved her paws at Shadowheart's face.

“You can go attack Wyll's feet if you want to fight something,” Shadowheart said, standing up long enough to plop the cat back on Gale's lap. “Astarion, don't provoke Devi – she's almost as bitey as you.”

“Please don't attack my feet,” Wyll muttered. “For the hundredth time, I didn't mean to turn either of you into cats! I wasn't even aiming at you!”

“What did Mizora have to say?” Isobel curiously asked.

Wyll scowled. “She just laughed and said that she lives for the entertainment value I provide her. We can't count on her for assistance.”

Gale sighed, then tightened his hold on Devi when she tried to jump back at Astarion. “No, leave him alone!” he said, feeling his nagging headache pound at his skull again. “Deviali…”

Devi hissed at the mention of her despised full name.

“Oh, I'm so glad you understood that,” Gale said, lifting the cat to his eye level and sternly looking at her. “The leash is still a valid threat if you don't behave.”

The cat in his hands meowed, then started to purr.

“It's a very good thing you're cute,” Gale murmured, drawing the cat back to his chest. He winced as he felt Devi start climbing up his robes again; a second later, he felt a little paw batting at his earring. “Hey!” he scolded, pulling Devi away from his piercing again. “What did I say about the earring?”

Devi just stared at him and meowed.

“Touch the earring again, and I swear, I'll conjure up a second leash for you,” Gale threatened. He set Devi back on his lap, distracting her with another piece of fish while he kept a firm hand on her back, lest she try to climb up his body again. “What am I going to do with you if you don't transform back, love?”

“Present her to your tressym as tribute?” Lae’zel asked with a smirk.

“Very funny. Tara will not be amused.” Gale sighed, then frowned as he sensed the Weave crackling around him. “What–”

There were two flashes of light and a chorus of surprised exclamations. Gale jumped as he found himself rather abruptly with a lap full of Devi, laying on her stomach over his legs, his hand still on her ass. Astarion rematerialised by Lae’zel's feet, and promptly started clawing at the leash. “Get this thing off me!” he demanded. “Leashing is not my kink!”

“No? A pity.” Lae’zel smirked as she undid the leash, ignoring Karlach's laugh. “But I'm sure you do have other carnal enjoyments, yes?”

“Not after being leashed like an animal, I don't!” Astarion retorted, rubbing his neck and glaring at Gale.

“I hate to break it to you, but you were an animal a minute ago,” Gale pointed out. He looked down as Devi scrambled back up to a sitting position beside him. “Welcome back, darling. Are you all right?”

“I… think so?” Devi shook her head and wrinkled her nose. “My memory is… fuzzy.”

“As fuzzy as you were just now?” Wyll cheerfully asked.

Devi frowned at the warlock. “Excuse me, but I am not ‘fuzzy’!” She tilted her head as his grin got wider. “I feel like I should be mad at you for something. I remember being very small, and being picked up and handed around…”

“So you don't remember being a cat?” Jaheira asked. “Complete with scratching my hands up, and trying to make Wyll lose his other eye?”

“That was Astarion that had a go at my eye,” Wyll interjected, with a scowl at the vampire.

“A cat?” Devi blinked. “How the hells did I get turned into a cat?”

“Wyll happened. We're partially blaming Mizora.” Gale shook his head and wrapped an arm around Devi's shoulders. “You do make an adorable cat though… even if a bratty one.”

“... Thank you, I think?” Devi looked up at Gale, then leaned into his side, her eyes leaving his. Gale watched her for a moment, then saw her hand start to slowly rise to his ear, her eyes never leaving what they had focused on.

Instinct had him swat her hand back down just as her fingertips reached his earring. “Stop trying to play with my earring!” he scolded.

“I'm sorry! I just… feel compelled! It's so shiny!”

Gale sighed heavily as laughter echoed around them. “Your body might be a person again, but your mind is still that of a cat. Please don't pounce on Astarion again.”

“No promises,” Devi said. She looked around at everyone snickering (except Astarion, who had moved up from the ground to the bench and was trying to straighten his clothes, all while looking thoroughly miffed), then back at Gale, a moment before she put her legs across his lap and snuggled against him. “Don't mind me. I'm very cuddly tonight.”

Shaking his head, Gale slipped his arm down her back to hold her closer. “As long as you leave my earring alone and don't try to groom me again–”

“Wait. What do you mean, ‘groom’ you?” Devi demanded. “As in, with my tongue, and…” She saw Gale's smirk and slow nod, at the same time that Karlach fell off her bench laughing, and squeaked, burying her face in the wizard's shoulder to blush. “Oh, hells.”

“Didn't know you were into that!” Karlach laughed. “Or that Gale’s apparently into leashes–!”

“I am not into leashes!” Gale retorted. “It was strictly a means to keep our cats corralled!”

“Well, if we hear noises from Gale's tent tonight, we know what methods of carnal pleasure he and Devi are playing with,” Lae’zel said with a grin. “Is ‘kitten’ not a pet name used by some human lovers anyway?”

Gale groaned as laughter resurged around camp. He shot Wyll a glare. “This is entirely your fault.”

“I thought we agreed Mizora was to blame!” Wyll protested.

“It was still your spell!” Gale sighed and gave Devi a squeeze. “Love, as a personal kindness to me, please don't get polymorphed into anything else. The cheese and the cat have been quite enough.”

“Again – no promises. Technically this wasn't my fault… I don't think.” Devi winked, then leaned against his shoulder and made a little noise of frustration. When Gale looked closely, she was peering at his earring again, seemingly fighting the urge to play with the jewellery.

“Don't even think about it,” the wizard warned. “Or I swear, I will tie you up–” He glared at Lae’zel and Karlach as they burst into laughter. “Not that way, either!”

“... Promises, promises,” Devi said with a grin that promised misbehaviour later.

Gale sighed again, looking skyward. How was this his life now?

#bg3 #bg3 fic #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #deviali #act 3 spoilers #polymorphing gone wrong #humour #friendship #cats #in which Gale is proven to be a Cat Guy #kink jokes are made

38 notes · View notes